


an artifice, a decoy soul

by fixwithgold



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, But Mostly Hurt, Graphic depictions of having a really bad time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Starvation, Vomiting, Whump, Withdrawal, bodily injury, but i’m emetophobic so like barely, canon-divergent, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixwithgold/pseuds/fixwithgold
Summary: By virtue of Martin’s curiosity, the apocalypse is subverted. Jon, unwilling to risk a second attempt or hurting anyone else, decides he’s no longer going to read or take Statements. Neither of them know how to handle the fallout.ORMartin keeps trying to feed Jon soup in between fits of screaming.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

Jon's skin aches and his mind feels shattered, all but unrecognizable beneath layers and layers of searing, gnawing pain.

Before he’d had a chance to read the trapped Statement Elias had sent, Martin had glanced over it out of curiosity. Every so often, the horrified look on his face flitted to the front of Jon’s mind, the tense moment between them and the apocalypse replaying itself. That Statement was thoroughly torn apart and flung out the window, another part flushed down the toilet, and the rest shredded and burned.

“Like you do with old bank statements,” Martin had said with an air of disgust, “to make sure they get destroyed in a way that keeps anyone unpleasant from piecing them back together.”

But more than unpleasant was the weight of Elias’s eyes Watching them, seething at how they had ruined so many long years of planning.

It had been the final catalyst in Jon’s decision to withdraw from Statements altogether, though he hadn’t been sure about it then, and he sure as hell isn’t sure about it now, trapped in his own useless body, starving in ways he can’t even describe properly, wounded so much that if he has a soul, somehow, it’s surely being torn apart.

It hurts so much and if he wasn't sure The Eye would keep him alive even if he could no longer walk or talk or think, he would have thought he was surely dying.

Martin has been trying to help in every way he knows how, which mainly takes the form of flu remedies. After all, aches and pains, fatigue, he even has a fever on and off; it might as well be a seasonal virus without the sinus problems. That is, except for the hours he spends lost in the sea behind the door in his mind or in the dreams where he can't escape terror that is not his own, the waves of Compulsion that arc off his body as he shudders uncontrollably and screams into a pillow. That, Martin can't fix by forcing soup and tea into him.

But he tries anyway, and when he's not delirious, Jon finds that he's grateful for it.

"Jon," Martin pleads, as the liquid that might be chicken-flavored drips off the spoon and back into the bowl, "come on."

Well, not grateful enough to actually eat. He knows that Martin is right, that since feeding his god is out of the question, he should try to feed his physical body which is obviously not doing so well at the moment. But his whole being revolts at the idea of physical calories being used as a halfhearted replacement for the Statements that they both know he needs.

 _Feed_ _your_ _god_ , _or_ _your_ _god_ _will_ _feed_ _on_ _you_.

Martin is too sweet for it, but Georgie might have threatened to get her hands on an IV line and get fluids into him that way, Jon muses, before a bolt of pain lances through his head and he cries out, Compulsion lacing the sound but with no words to latch onto. He’s shaking uncontrollably, his hands clenching and unclenching against the fabric of the cushions on the couch he almost never leaves, now. Maybe he falls unconscious for a moment, his nervous system or what remains of it unable to process so much and resorting to shutting it all down, but he returns to the world too soon.

Martin holds him until the episode passes, whispering apologies for the pain and praise for his strength.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulfills Whumptober 2020 Day 16: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
> 
> Knock, knock.

There's a knock at the door and Jon startles violently, picturing Elias waiting outside with his metal pipe, tapping it casually against the palm of his hand and waiting for Martin to open the door. Elias has too many limbs, and they're too long, and though this time Jon is inside the house, Elias still wants another guest for dinner.

_Don't answer,_ he wants to scream, _don't answer it, please!_ But he can never make someone Know, even to save their life, and Martin doesn't even think to be afraid as he goes to open the door. 

When Martin comes back he's carrying a parcel gingerly, like it could shatter in his hands, and Jon somehow manages to curl in on himself even more, pressing back into the couch cushions as Martin starts to open the package. Jon's vision blacks out and comes back tunneled as he tries to breathe against his desperation. Martin is reassuring him of something but he can't hear it, and when the hastily folded papers are drawn out and the packaging discarded onto the floor, Jon startles at the sound and starts begging Martin not to, please not to—

"Jon, stop!"

He knows nothing for a while before his short-term memory starts to catch up like a skipping record and a metallic taste fills his mouth. Martin had jammed the Statements into his back pocket and rushed to remind Jon of his promise to burn them, to point at the roaring fire and stop Jon's delusion that he was going to start reading them, forcing the knowledge into Jon's brain. And Jon had started clawing at his own face, convinced that he would lose the strength to ignore the papers being so close and seize one to finally end the eternity of torture.

Martin had grabbed his hands but Jon managed to wrest one back and bite down on the scarred flesh between his thumb and first finger, hard enough to break the skin and let blood trickle out and into his mouth.

"—and I'll burn them, just stop hurting yourself, please!" Martin cries, and Jon lets his jaw release, his bloodied hand dropping limply into his lap. Martin is crying, and when a drop of water falls down to mingle with the mess of red, Jon realizes that he is too.

Martin does as he promised; the Statements are ripped into quarters and dropped in the fire. Jon swears he sees the flame flicker green for a millisecond. Martin lets out a sob and comes back over to Jon. He falls to his knees in front of the couch and buries his face in the cushions, his arms folded over his head, and all at once Jon Knows—no, just feels—the helpless, hopeless fear and sorrow that they're sharing, the knowledge that there is nothing that can be done.

With Elias's affronted gaze on him, Jon's silent, streaming tears turn to real, convulsive gasps. He tucks his bloody hand against his chest, barely feeling its weak pain through the gnawing emptiness that he is now, and lays down on his side, curled to fit like a puzzle piece around Martin's shaking form. He reaches out to take Martin's hand with his still-intact one—Martin's hands are warm and his are so cold, corpselike—and lets himself drift into fevered sleep.


End file.
